


fall down with me

by feistycadavers



Category: Motionless in White (Band), SKOLD (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Chair Bondage, Come Eating, Condoms, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Dominant Bottom, Genital Piercing, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Polyamory, Power Imbalance, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 02:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feistycadavers/pseuds/feistycadavers
Summary: “That's fair,” Tim says. He reaches down, lifts Chris's chin. “You usually got a thing for older men?”“Not as much as you have one for younger men, apparently,” Chris remarks, and Tim just grins.or, the one where chris has had a huge crush on tim forever and then tim produces reincarnate and also uses chris as a dildo.





	fall down with me

**Author's Note:**

> hi my name's marina and i'm in rarepair hell
> 
> i literally only blame riv and stu for this. whatever. here's the fuckin porn now y'all can stop bugging me about it lmao
> 
> sorry i haven't been writing much i don't have any good excuses other than seasonal depression
> 
> chris has a jacob's ladder because i fucking feel like it, that's why
> 
> re: daddy kink tag - "daddy" is used as an honorary but this isn't a cg/l or dd/lb dynamic. it's just d/s with daddy as an honorary instead of sir or master. there's also some amount of a power imbalance involved here. if those things squick/trigger you then this isn't the fic for you.
> 
> title from final dictvm by miw feat. skold bc............. duh
> 
> ETA 1/6/18: [i have done a dvd commentary on this fic here!](http://skold.tumblr.com/post/169414166467/dvd-commentary-the-christim-fic)

“Chris.”

Chris starts, looks up. Tim's looking at him expectantly.

“Sorry,” he says. “Was thinking.” Not a lie, in the technical sense. Tim puts his pen down, leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out.

“If it's too late for you to think straight, I can leave,” Tim remarks. God. How does everything Tim says somehow make him more appealing? _Thinking straight_. Chris actually snort laughs at that.

“S'not that,” Chris says. “Sorry. Just easily distracted.” Tim smirks, and Chris swears internally.

“Yeah?” Tim asks. “Wanna talk about it?” Chris just props his head up in his hand, elbow on the edge of the table in front of the soundboard. They should be finished with this song by now, well into recording instruments, not still fussing with vocals. It's just spectacularly difficult to focus with Tim there all the time.

Look, so maybe Chris has had a huge crush on Tim Skold since he got into KMFDM as a nineties baby. Maybe he's still a little starstruck and maybe it's to the point that he's had to jerk off hurriedly in Tim's bathroom in the house, awkwardly smiling and greeting Tim's wife on the way back out to the studio. _Hi, Erin. I just jerked off thinking about your husband stepping on my dick. How are the horses?_

“Nah, s'alright,” Chris says. “Sure it's nothing you'd want to hear about anyway.”

“Try me,” Tim says. Everything Tim says sounds like a challenge. A dare. Tim pushes his chair back, props his boots up on the table next to his notebook. Okay. Double dare.

“I like your boots,” Chris says, trying to respond as conversationally as possible while also trying to shift the subject. Tim seems to notice this, grabs his pack off the table, pulls out a cigarette with his mouth.

“They're probably older than you are,” Tim remarks, cigarette tucked between his lips, red painted thumb flicking at his lighter. Chris frowns.

“I'm not that young,” he says. Tim finally gets his light, takes a long drag.

“I'm probably almost twice your age,” he says, words coming out smoke.

“Does Erin call you grandpa instead of daddy?” Chris quips, and as soon as the joke's out of his mouth he worries it's too much. They're probably not close enough for him to pick on Tim like that – but Tim laughs, pulling a face.

“Erin doesn't call me daddy,” Tim says. “We're way too close in age for that kinda shit. Now if I was fucking someone _much_ younger than me.” He flicks his ashes on the floor, shrugs. “Then I don't mind.”

Jesus. Have they breached that level of friendship where they can not only insult each other, but are _openly discussing daddy kink_?

“I get that,” Chris says, nodding. He wishes he had his phone handy to text Ricky. “ _sos skold thinks we're close enough to talk about kinks what do?????_ ”, probably with that panicky looking emoji at the end.

“You seem like more of a sir kinda guy,” Tim says. Oh, no. They're just discussing honoraries. “Especially done up in a suit. Like, if _Fifty Shades_ was actually good, and also fucked up.”

Chris shifts a little. “Well.” He's not exactly sure how to respond to that without completely exposing himself.

“Ah,” Tim says, grinning. He brings his cigarette back to his mouth. Fuck Tim Skold and his mind-reading abilities.

“I can feel you judging me and I don't like it,” Chris says, averting his gaze. He's really wishing for his phone to be anywhere closer than on the charger across the room. “ _ricky pls answer skold can read minds and knows i'm a huge fucking bottom_ ”.

“Please,” Tim says. “As if there's no enjoyment to be had in submitting. I wrote a whole goddamn song about it.” Oh. Right.

“Most guys just give me a hard time is all,” Chris says quickly. 

“Is that why you're talking to my boots and not my face?” Tim remarks. Chris's stomach seems to fall out his ass. “Don't gawk like that. I know a sub when I see one.”

“Sorry,” Chris says, shaking his head, face burning under his makeup. He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight. Fuck. _Fuck._ Fuck.

“No need to apologize,” Tim says. Chris ventures a glance at him. He flicks his ashes again. “If you'd like to look at them, you can.”

Chris hesitates for a moment. He's not sure what that implies.

“So, you're into boots,” Tim says conversationally. “Probably latex, or gloves, or both. Crossdressing?”

Chris whines. “Stop reading my mind,” he says, covering his face. Tim laughs, but it's not condescending. It's sort of comforting.

“I'm just perceptive,” Tim says. Chris drops his hands into his lap and lets himself admire Tim's boots. If they're as old as Chris is, it's not obvious. They're combat boots, a bit of a platform and laces tied two-thirds of the way up. Steel-toe, probably.

“They _are_ nice,” Chris admits. It feels like admitting some kind of long-held secret. Maybe it is, judging by Tim's response.

“They probably need polishing,” Tim says, deadpan. He mouths his cigarette again. Chris looks at him. Either Tim is implying he needs to send them to be repaired, or he's implying he'd like _Chris_ to polish them. Probably with his mouth.

“Uh,” Chris says dumbly, because he really really doesn't want to be wrong about this. Tim stabs out his cigarette in the ashtray near him, pushes his chair back, and sets his boots back on the floor, wide apart. 

“If you'd like to,” Tim says, gesturing to the floor in front of him.

“ _RICKY. SKOLD WANTS ME TO LICK HIS BOOTS. HELP._ ”

“Erin?” Chris asks, because for some reason that's the first thing he's worried about.

“We're not exclusive,” Tim says. He goes for his pack again, pauses. “I hope the invitation hasn't offended you,” Tim adds.

“Fuck, no,” Chris says, suddenly feeling himself slide out of the chair and onto the floor. He's not consciously doing it so much as he automatically is. He finds himself crawling across the studio floor, kneeling in front of Tim. _Kneeling_ in front of _Tim_.

“Any limits?” Tim asks, lighting another cigarette.

“Nothing relevant,” Chris says. Tim sighs.

“What are they?” he presses, crossing his legs. Tim's boot is inches from Chris's face.

“Uh,” Chris says, thinking. Fuck. Normally he can rattle this off no problem. “No illegal shit, don't call me dumb or insult my intelligence, no bodily waste on my face, don't leave marks I can't cover easily, and my ass is an exit.” Tim laughs once.

“That's fair,” Tim says. He reaches down, lifts Chris's chin. “You usually got a thing for older men?”

“Not as much as you have one for younger men, apparently,” Chris remarks, and Tim just grins.

“You caught me,” Tim says. “Did you figure that out when I said I liked being called daddy?” Chris swallows.

“Maybe,” he says.

“You may call me that, then,” Tim says, sitting back in his seat. He replaces his cigarette between his lips. “Go ahead,” he says around it.

Chris looks back down at the boots below him. This close, he can see the wear more clearly. There's dirt caught in the seam where sole meets leather, and scuff marks across the toe. Chris lowers his head to the floor, laves his tongue across it.

“Good boy,” Tim's voice says from above him. Chris doesn't respond. He licks in earnest, dragging his tongue up the sides next to the laces, careful not to smear makeup on them.

“May I touch them, daddy?” Chris asks. Tim hums in approval.

“You may,” he says. Chris takes Tim's boot by the back of the heel, lifts it from the floor so he can get the back. He licks along the edge of the sole, kisses the bottom of the toe. “The other boot's feeling a bit neglected,” Tim comments.

“I'm sorry daddy,” Chris says quickly, placing Tim's boot back down and tending to the other, wetting it with spit as he laps at the leather.

“You're quite good at that,” Tim remarks. Chris lifts the other boot, looking up at Tim over the edge of the sole as he's kissing the bottom. Tim's sighing out smoke, painted fingers tapping at his cigarette. “Clearly experienced. One of the prettiest boys I've had polish my boots, that's for certain.”

“Thank you, daddy,” Chris says. Tim pulls his boot from Chris's grip, nudging his hands away from them.

“Kneel for me again, doll,” he instructs, and Chris does, crossing his arms behind his back. Tim toes Chris's knees apart. “Polishing boots gets your cock hard, then.” Chris's stomach flutters a little just hearing Tim refer to his dick.

“Yes, daddy,” Chris says.

“Women's jeans truly do leave little to the imagination,” Tim says, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. “How big is it?”

“I – sorry?” Chris stutters.

“How big is your cock?” Tim asks. He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees.

“I don't – I'm not sure, daddy. Never measured it.” Chris's face burns.

“Hm,” Tim says. “It's good information to know.” He places his boot on the crotch of Chris's jeans, pressing just barely. “I might want to use it.” Chris's breath catches, his mouth falling open.

“It's yours if you'd like it, daddy,” he says. Tim leans back again, one hand going to his belt. He starts to undo it. Fuck. Fuck. Chris squeezes his eyes closed. He's not sure he can physically handle seeing Tim's dick.

“If I know anything about pretty little boot lickers,” Tim says, and Chris's eyes flicker back open to look up into Tim's, even as much as Chris would like to look at where he's got his hand in his pants, “it's that they like to service dick. Is this true for you?”

“Yes, daddy,” Chris says quickly, nodding. Of all the shit he jerked off to as a teenager, sucking Tim Skold's dick was probably one of the last he'd expect to end up happening in real life.

“Strip,” Tim orders. Chris follows instructions, quickly scrambling out of his t-shirt and boots, socks, girl jeans, boxer-briefs. Tim tuts. “Is that how you impress your dominant?” he remarks, gesturing at the pile of black clothing.

“I – no, daddy,” Chris says.

“Tidy up,” Tim says. Chris takes care this time, folding each item, piling each on top of the other, and setting his boots atop all of his clothes. Once Tim hums his approval, he goes back to his position, kneeling. Tim gestures him closer. He inches up. “Well endowed,” Tim comments, lifting Chris's cock with the toe of his boot. Chris straightens his back a bit, trying not to shrink away from Tim's careful inspection. “Well then. What's this?” Chris's face burns.

“It's a ladder, daddy,” Chris says, as Tim cranes his neck to get a better look at the piercings lining the underside of his cock.

“Show me,” Tim says. Chris does, lifting his dick flush to his stomach so Tim can see – it's a row of six straight barbells, evenly spaced from the base of his cock up to the little ridge of skin under the head. “I had a feeling you might have some hardware down here,” Tim admits. “But I've never had a cock with a ladder. I can't wait to have it.”

“Thank you, daddy,” Chris says. Was Tim implying he intended to... no, no way.

“You'll work for it, though,” Tim says, relaxing back in his chair. He frees his cock, letting it stand upright, and Chris swears he feels his mouth water. He chews into his lip. “You may,” Tim adds.

Chris tries not to look too eager. He crawls forward, up into Tim's lap, takes his cock in hand. Tim's dick is slim and appealing, not unlike the rest of him. Uncut. New to him. Chris gives it one stroke and the skin pulls back a bit. He pulls it into his mouth, tongue laving against the underside. Tim hums approvingly. Chris just sort of mouths at him, wet metal of his lip rings sliding over sensitive skin.

“Good boy,” Tim murmurs, voice low and rough. Chris murmurs something indistinct back, takes Tim's cock down, feels it at the back of his mouth, wanting more and forcing his way down. Chris grabs at the waistband of Tim's pants and pulls him in nearer, and Tim obliges, inching closer to the edge of the chair as Chris starts moving his head, fingers gripping Tim's belt. Tim smells like cigarettes and sweat in the most appealing way and Chris inhales it, pulls off, spit stringing.

“Thank you, daddy,” Chris says, planting wet kisses up the length of Tim's cock, slicking it with spit. Tim brushes his fingers through Chris's hair, guides his mouth back down. Chris lets himself drool, just sort of fucking his mouth on Tim's cock, and Tim hisses out a curse in another language.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Chris moans softly around the dick, his own aching. “Keep your eyes open.” Chris hadn't exactly noticed they were closed, but he opens them, looks up at Tim, swallows him down. His eyes start to flutter shut again and Tim smacks at the side of his face. “ _Open._ ”

“Ah,” Chris whines, lifting his head to work Tim's length with long tattooed and painted fingers. Tim thumbs drool from Chris's mouth, pushes it back in, and Chris closes his mouth around it.

“I think I want some of your cock now,” Tim says, practically purring. Chris nods, even though he's not positive what exactly that means, till Tim stands. “Sit back in your chair, sweetheart.” Shit. Yeah. He is gonna ride his dick. _Shit._ Chris practically scrambles back to his chair, sitting with a hand on each arm rest. Tim goes for a drawer in one of his cabinets, and fuck, he looks appealing with his pants halfway down his ass like that. Tim produces a bottle of lube, a box of condoms, and a roll of electrical tape. Chris bites back a grin. He knew he picked the right fave as a teenage Manson fan.

Tim peels back the tape, securely fastens Chris's wrists to his chair. He seems to consider taping Chris's entire upper body to the back, but tosses the tape roll onto the table after a moment. Then, the condom box. He pulls a strip out, tears one off, and rips it open.

“Precautions,” Tim explains, as he finally touches Chris's cock, unrolling black latex onto it. Chris sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth at the contact. Tim thumbs over each rung on his ladder curiously, seeming to admire them. “This must've hurt,” he says.

“It did, daddy,” Chris says, watching as Tim picks up the bottle of lube, pours it out over his fingers, and his hand disappears behind him. Fuck. 

“Do you like pain?” Tim asks. Chris wishes desperately that he could see what he's doing back there. Tim leans in, braces his free hand on Chris's shoulder.

“I,” Chris says, hearing the wet slick of lube, “yes, daddy.” Chris also wishes Tim would put his hand back on his cock.

“I would've loved to have been that piercer,” Tim remarks, thumb brushing over Chris's collarbone. “I'm sure you made the most delightful sounds.”

“Please, daddy,” Chris practically sobs. He's aching for it, surely leaking by now.

“You want daddy to sit on your cock?” Tim asks. Chris whines. His composure is frustrating.

“Please sit on my cock, daddy,” Chris whispers. Tim purrs, lubed hand coming back around to slick over the condom. Chris jerks up at the touch.

“You've been awfully good,” Tim says. He pushes his pants further down and turns his back to him, shifting back into Chris's lap, grabbing to guide his cock. Chris wills himself still somehow.

“Thank you, daddy,” Chris murmurs, mouth falling open as he sinks home. Tim eases himself down, bracing himself with hands on either taped wrist. Once he's all the way hilted, he leans back into Chris's chest, turning to speak quietly into his ear.

“That ladder is fucking amazing,” Tim says softly, rolling his hips gently. Chris whines into Tim's shoulder. “You ask permission to come.”

“Yes, daddy,” Chris says, nodding as Tim works himself on his cock.

“I get to come first,” Tim says, and Chris just nods again, completely overwhelmed. “Once I've used your cock to my satisfaction, I'll allow you the opportunity to come.” Tim's voice is even, despite everything.

“Yes, thank you daddy,” Chris says, and Tim starts to ride his cock in earnest, harder, up and down in his lap.

“Fuck,” Tim chokes out, grabbing at the side of the chair. “Those fucking piercings. _Christ_.” Chris's head falls back and he moans. When he looks back down, his head seems to spin as he looks down at Tim's cock. He pulls at the electrical tape, instinctively wanting to grab it, and Tim just laughs quietly to himself. “No way. You're mine. Mine to use.”

Chris can only dig his fingers into the chair and take it as Tim uses him like a toy.

Tim slows a bit, long deep strokes, bracing himself with a boot on the edge of the chair. He leans forward a bit and Chris looks down, can see where his latex wrapped cock is disappearing into him, and Chris whimpers, having to look away. He feels his orgasm building and has to will it away, head dropped back in pleasure.

“Good boy,” Tim purrs, reaching back over his shoulder to grab Chris by the hair, pulling him in closer. Chris turns into Tim's neck, mouths wet kisses at the skin he finds. “Fuck, I might just have to keep you taped up in here for awhile. Keep this dick all for myself.”

“All yours, daddy,” Chris moans into his skin, red marks sucked to the white surface. Finally, Tim reaches down to touch himself, Chris watching as his painted fingers work himself. “Want you to come on my cock, daddy, please,” Chris pleads.

“M'sure you do,” Tim murmurs, scoffing a laugh, and Chris whines. “I want that too. Getting there.” Chris just nods, words becoming difficult. He's pretty sure if he hadn't been warned right off the bat not to come he would've immediately lost it. It's _Tim_. An honest fantasy come true. Maybe with more electrical tape than the fantasy though. The only thing that could make this better is if Tim was wearing a Motionless shirt. Chris files that thought away.

Tim shudders, nails digging into the tape on Chris's wrist. He quickens his pace, shifting his angle, and he moans in earnest.

“Fuuuck, yes,” he grits out. “Gonna come on your cock.” It's the best thing Chris has ever heard.

“Please, daddy, fuck, _please_ ,” he begs, and all at once Tim's going impossibly tighter around him as he spills hot all over his fingers, onto his shirt, and Chris buries his moan in Tim's shoulder. Tim rides his orgasm out, slow and even, giving Chris a moment to catch his breath. But not enough, because then Tim's right back at it, fucking himself on Chris's dick, and Chris cries out, too sensitive, too close. “Can I come, please? Daddy,” he chokes out.

“Come,” Tim says. 

It's like he's flipped a switch. Chris comes instantly, hips lifting out of the chair as he fills the condom, cock jerking inside Tim. All he can hear is Tim's gentle voice murmuring “good boy” to him as he works every last bit of it out. Chris is drained, literally and figuratively.

“Thank you, daddy,” Chris mumbles.

Tim stands, sitting up off Chris's cock, turns to face him. He brings his fingers to Chris's mouth and doesn't even have to ask. Chris opens reflexively, tonguing between each digit, cleaning them. When Tim pulls his fingers away, Chris opens his mouth to thank him, but Tim puts his hand over it.

“You're not finished,” Tim says firmly. He reaches down, pulling the condom easily from Chris's cock. “Head back. Open.” Chris obeys. Tim turns the condom over and hot come pours into Chris's mouth. Tim squeezes out every drop. “Swallow.” Chris does. “Now you're finished.”

“Thank you, daddy,” Chris says, voice fucked out and raw. Tim smiles.

“Suppose I should find my pocket knife to get you out of that chair,” he says, hiking his pants back up before opening the top drawer of his desk and rifling through his collection of things.

“I've literally wanted to do that since I was like, seventeen,” Chris says, before he can stop himself. His face burns. Tim just grins as he flicks the blade of a pocket knife out, tucks it under the tape.

“I know,” Tim says. Chris just stares at him. “I'm not telling you who told me because I know you'll kill him.” He frees Chris's first wrist.

“I only would've killed him if you'd made fun of me about having a thing for you,” Chris says. Tim laughs once.

“Fine, but go easy on him, okay?” he says, cutting away the other piece of tape. Chris stretches his wrists out. “It was Ricky. But really, be nice to him. I like him. He makes me feel tall.”

“I'll have...” Chris considers it. “A firmly worded conversation with him about it.” Tim snort laughs.

“I suppose we can work on the song tomorrow,” Tim says. “Don't forget your phone. It's still on the charger.”

When Chris finally gets into his car, he actually does text Ricky.

“ _i hate you fucker._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to drop requests for fic stuff in my ask box over on tumblr @skold. i like knowing what y'all wanna read. it Helps me.


End file.
